


The four times Gavin thinks he fucks up and the one time he actually gets some self confidence

by DailyDaves



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, cw for anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:16:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DailyDaves/pseuds/DailyDaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin's admired her from afar for a long time, but he's never had the confidence to go up to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The four times Gavin thinks he fucks up and the one time he actually gets some self confidence

**Author's Note:**

> For the wonderful ryanfreewood on tumblr<3 They requested Turnfree and I was more than happy to fulfill. (this is also known as the fic with the unnecessarily long title)

i.

The first time is the first time he meets her.

Vidcon 2013 and drunk off his ass. So really, nothing out of the usual. He's heard of Sourcefed before, of course, and he's heard of her, too. Anyone who knows anything about Gavin Free, though, knows that he's shy and insecure, resulting in his inability to talk to girls without a drink in his hand. This time is no different. He's admired her from afar before; the Sourcefed booth is one of the first he visits, and he makes a beeline towards it, stopping beyond the crowd to look on, watching her move and smile and talk with fans. He wants to cut through the crowd, to slip in and introduce himself, but he absolutely _can't_. She won't like him. She'll tell him to leave. She won't give him a second glance; there's so many other guys in the convention so much better than him. A million thoughts are running through his head, not one of them being positive.

So he does what he always does. He walks away. And then he wishes he hadn't.

Burnie and he walk the convention hall together and Gavin starts to feel better about himself. He talks with fans, chats with other people from youtube, and even meets _John bloody Green_. He starts to forget the red hair and thick rimmed black glasses, and then he doesn't. She sticks in his mind, his thoughts circling around her. That night, after drinking with Burnie and Barbara, he, for once, does not get smashed beyond belief. He returns to his room, feeling the warmth of an alcohol buzz dulling his thoughts, and hooks his computer up to the television in the room. He turns of Sourcefed and watches Table Talk until her voice lulls him into the best sleep he's had in a long time. It's _her_ voice he falls asleep to and it's _her_ he dreams about and it's _her_ that's driving him _mad_.

He passes by her booth again at the con the next day. Again, he stops by the crowd surrounding it. Again, he doesn't go up to her. Again, he just watches her, watching as she handed shirts and posters to people, laughing and talking enthusiastically, her eyes bright and her red pigtailed hair bouncing with her every movement. He can just barely hear her over the murmur of the crowd, her smooth honeyed laughter reaching his ears, making him want to step closer just to be able to hear that laugh better.

It's then that the fan she's currently talking to leaves, walking away with her merchandise, and then that the group standing in front of Gavin separates and scatters, then that she looks up, right in that moment, that perfect moment when Gavin feels like his entire world goes slow-motion. A moment earlier, the group would've been in front of him. A moment later, she would've moved on to talking to someone else. It's _now_ , right in this moment, that she stands up straight, tossing a red pigtail over her shoulder, her eyes coincidentally falling on Gavin, standing alone to the left of the Sourcefed booth, mouth half open and green eyes wide, their eyes meeting and locking in a moment Gavin feels like he's only dreamed of.

Her mouth stretches wide in a smile and she grins and beams at him, her eyes shining. She raises a hand and beckons him over, every bit of her perfect and lovely, and Gavin wants nothing more than to go to her.

He doesn't, though, because he's not good enough, because she has better things to do, because he has no idea what to say to her, and, above all, because he's nothing to her and she has no reason to bother with him in the first place.

So he does what he always does. He walks away. And then—he wishes he hadn't.

* * *

ii.

The second time is at his panel.

He knows what he's talking about. He and a friend give the panel, though Gavin wishes Dan weren't in god knows where doing god knows what for the military. He doesn't linger on that, though. This is what he's good at. He leads the panel flawlessly, talking about what he knows best, doing what he's good at, and he's proud of the outcome. It's when he's closing up the panel that he finally messes it up.

He's in the middle of closing up, all eyes on him, all ears trained at him, everyone in the room listening to everything he has to say. It's an empowering feeling, knowing that he's the expert, that it's his words everyone's hanging onto, that he's the center of attention and at the forefront of everyone's minds. It's amazing how far he's come, from just a kid in England to here, in a room full of people, hundreds of them, a microphone hooked up to him as every single person in the room listens to what he had to say. He's proud of himself—for once speaking with confidence, his eyes scanning over everyone in the room, looking at the crowd he'd drawn, at all the people who'd come here to listen to him.

That confidence goes away as soon as he lays eyes on a girl leaning in the doorway, obviously not having gotten into the panel in time for a seat. She has her eyes focused on him, the same gaze that had connected with his earlier. He falls silent mid-sentence, trailing off into wordless shock, staring right at her and not even attempting to hide it. It's a long moment of surprise and panic that courses through him, sudden and making his heart beat fast. He can't breathe, seeing her here, watching his panel, clearly interested in what he had to say about the subject. The moment's long and strangled, choking the life and the words out of him until he realizes a second later that he'd just trailed off into silence while speaking to hundreds of people. He picks it up immediately, suddenly nervous and his speech filled with 'ums' and 'ahs'.

When he finally works up the courage to look back at that doorway, she's no longer there.

* * *

iii.

The third time's at the last night of the convention.

He's at an after-party with Burnie and Barbara. Burnie's at his side, as usual at crowded events in which they've both learned the hard way that Gavin shouldn't be left alone at. And he's drunk. Absolutely hammered. Which is per usual at events like these—or really, anywhere that offers free alcohol. Burnie's at his side and they're talking with some bird from IGN, Gavin only half-listening, sleep edging at him and telling him to find Barbara and head back to the rooms. He isn't paying attention in the least, only coming back to reality once Barbara pulls him away from Burnie and ushers him off to the other side of the floor. He stutters, slurring his words and trying to ask why and what's going on, but Barbara's reply is lost in the conversation of the crowd and the beat of the music surrounding them.

Finally, she stops, and the world is spinning and Gavin feels like either doubling over and throwing up what was left in his stomach from basically running to keep up with Barbara or going back to his room and going to bed. He catches his breathe, looks up, and then his world comes to a complete stop, the spinning halting in place of absolute stand-stillness. He's left breathless and drunk, redfaced and looking up into the face of the girl he hasn't been able to get out of his head. He's completely intoxicated, bloody drunk off his ass, and he still has no idea what to say to her. Usually, he can rely on his drunk self to have the self-confidence needed to talk to girls, but this time, that's not the case at all.

"I'm Meg Turney," She tells him, smiling again, her voice exactly how Gavin remembers from falling asleep to it. He thinks—she's even more beautiful up close, and he knows for once that it's not alcohol talking. She holds out a hand to him, and in his drunken stupor and embarrassment, he has no idea what to do with it, so he does nothing.

"He's a little—" Barbara's trying to explain.

He doesn't let her, "I'm Gavin. Free. Gavin Free. I work at RoosterTeeth. And Achievement Hunter. I do slow-mo stuff, too. Sorta. Kinda."

The smile stays on her lips, though Gavin's not drunk enough that he doesn't see the questioning glance she throws at Barbara. "Yeah. I came to your panel! I couldn't stay for all of it—sorry about that!" Her attention is back on him, and Gavin almost wishes it wasn't. His face is hot and his heart is beating fast and he _knows_ he's making a right fool of himself out here, but there's nothing he can do to fix it and even less he can do to stop it. He wishes Barbara didn't drag him over here, and, above all else, he wishes he weren't this drunk, that he'd just completely steered clear of the alcohol tonight.

" 's right," He slurs, glancing away and looking for any sort of way out of this. He has no idea how to talk to her. There's so many things he wants to tell her—that he thinks she's beautiful, that he watches the content her company produces, that he'd give anything to just hang out with her—but he has no idea how to put any of it into words and phrases and sentences, so he just speaks shortly and awkwardly and hopes for the best, only growing more embarrassed when Meg exchanges an awkward glance with Barbara, clearly picking up on the fact that Gavin has no idea how to talk to girls.

Barbara nudges him, "Meg, maybe you should give him your number. You two could talk more once he's…"

She raises an eyebrow and finishes Barbara's sentence; Gavin wants out more than anything, "Sober?"

He feels like throwing up. He feels like running out. He feels like he doesn't want to be here anymore at all, that he'd come so far only to be left stuttering and slurring his words in front of a girl he'd only had the courage to admire from afar, the girl who'd smiled at him and came to his panel and was now standing right in front of him, waiting for him to show her he wasn't just a drunk idiot who could barely speak and stunk of alcohol. He's disappointing her, and right now, because of that, it doesn't _matter_ how far he's come. None of that matters. What matters right here, right now, is that he likes this girl _a lot_ but can't get over his bloody anxiety for five minutes to speak coherently to her.

He does nothing. He does nothing as Meg and Barbara look at each other again, doing nothing as Meg takes his arm and writes a phone number down on his skin, and he does nothing as she starts talking to someone else, laughing and chatting with them. Even though they're in full ear-shot, Gavin can't help but to think that it was _him_ they were laughing and talking about.

Barbara takes him back to his room soon after, saying nothing about what happened with Meg. He's tired and wants to sleep, ending up laying down in the hallway until she notices and has to half-drag him the rest of the way. He still has the phone number written on his arm, glaring at him every time he looks down, big black numbers sharpied onto his arm. Barbara leaves him, telling him to go the hell to sleep, and he does, debating beforehand turning on Table Talk to help him calm down before he realizes that it's one of the hosts that's part of the problem. He falls asleep alone and ashamed, hating himself and everything he'd done back at the party, and the night is probably the worst night of sleep he's had since high school.

He wakes up in the morning to a note from Burnie, telling him when their flight leaves and with a helpful tip for getting rid of his burning hangover attacked under the flight itinerary. He reads the note, his head aching and his eyes straining to read the letter when the sun's streaming through his window, bright and blinding and straight onto his face. He lies in bed for a while after that, remembering the night, waves of embarrassment and shame washing over him as he replays the same moments again and again, over and over, his short interaction with Meg stuck on a loop on a tape recorder he desperately wishes he could stop

He just lays there, alone in the sheets that are not his in a bed that is also not his in a room that is definitely not his. He breathes slowly, going over that looped tape until he's tired of it and wants to drink to forget it. His head is pounding and the arm with the phone number on it is burning and he has no idea what to do with it or where to go from here when he's such a screw up.

Finally, finally, he works up the damned self-confidence he's always lacking and turns on his phone. His fingers shake as he taps each key, entering in the number that's written on his arm. He checks it over again and calls it, holding his breath as it rings and rings and rings, fully expecting to hear that it's a number not in use or not her phone at all until—

"Hi! This is Meg Turney! I'm not available right now—I'm probably off doing something infinitely cool and exciting like playing a tabletop role playing game. Leave a message and I'll get back to you!"

It's the quickest he's ever hit the end call button, and he almost wishes it had been a fake number. Almost.

* * *

iv.

The fourth time is a week later.

He hasn't done anything with the number now stored in his phone. He hasn't forgotten about her, either. He can't, not when she's always in his head. But right now, for once, she's _not_ at the forefront of his thoughts, and when he does call her, it's completely by accident.

The person on the other line picks up; Gavin doesn't wait for them to say anything.

"Michael. I need you to pick me up. Please. Please come get me."

"—Gavin?"

The thing about Gavin Free is that he doesn't like to bother with doing anything unnecessary. Unfortunately, that's also gotten him into a lot of trouble. For example, he only uses last names in his phone contacts if he has two people with the same first name. Therefore, Michael and Meg happen to be right next to each other, so when he's shaking and sitting outside a club, unable to even keep his hands still to call someone who knows that this happens sometimes so he could get picked, he accidentally hits the wrong contact, ending up calling the wrong person.

His eyes fly wide open, his free hand knotting in his hair, and he's staring down at the pavement. He's sat against the brick wall of the back of the building, able to still hear the music, muffled but still charging him with what it'd been like inside, with too many people, with too much warmth, with too much noise and not enough space or air. It'd simply been too much and he'd been left alone in a crowd of strangers who could be anyone from anywhere, all of whom were talking around him, brushing against him, all of them too preoccupied to notice him. He'd had to get out of there. So he'd stumbled out here, out to the back of the building, shaking violently and wanting, needing someone to pick him up, someone who knew that this happened sometimes when Gavin was left alone in a crowd of people he didn't know.

"Shit. Michael. I wanted—I needed—Michael. Shit," It feels nearly as bad as back at the Vidcon after -party except, this time, he's completely sober and desperately looking for something to hold onto when he can barely get his thoughts in order.

Her response is immediate, her voice soft and making Gavin finally stop scrambling for words to explain himself, "Hey, wait. Just wait a second and don't hang up yet. You sound like you're in bad shape. Where are you?"

He doesn't know what to say. She's not Michael and she's not Burnie and she's not Geoff and she doesn't _know_ and he doesn't want to tell her. He doesn't know why she picked up the phone or why she's talking to him now instead of doing more important things or why she's telling him not to hang up, but she _is_ and right now, Gavin doesn't have enough control to dwell on the _why_.

"A club," He answers, staring at the ground, at the cracks in the pavement, the only thing connecting him to the outside world being the phone he's holding to his ear. "I can't—I don't remember which. Austin. I'm in Austin. Somewhere."

The feeling that washes over him is far too familiar for his liking—shame, hot and burning him, and he wishes she'd let him hang up and he's not quite sure why he doesn't. He could easily hang up and call Michael or Burnie or Geoff, but he doesn't. He stays on the phone with her, not hanging up, trying to give her what she was asking for, unsure why she even cares at all where he is.

"I'm in Austin now. Are you downtown?"

Gavin tries to remember, "Yeah. Probably. I don't know I tried to call Michael, but—"

He's going around in circles, but it's Meg that stops him, cutting him off with her soft voice, "It's alright. You sound like you're—You want to tell me what happened?"

"No."

He doesn't want to say anything about it. He wants to go home and he wants to stop making a right fool out of himself in front of this girl whenever he so much as talks to her. He wants to be able to have a normal conversation with him, wants to not freeze up or choke up anytime she was in his general vicinity. He wants to not have these problems, to not be stuck alone outside a popular club in Downtown Austin just because he can't take a damn crowd, to not be silently willing the girl he was on the phone with to reject him and hang up on him, just like he knows she'll do eventual. Above all, he wants to stop being so goddamn scared of rejection, to not have to focus so much on the buts and what ifs. But he can't. Because he's like this. And not like that.

She doesn't respond at first and Gavin can feel his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. And then, she does, and it's nothing like he expects, nothing like a scolding or the rejection he's been waiting for since the first day he saw her at Vidcon. Instead, her voice is comforting, making Gavin relax just slightly in the midst of everything going on, "It sounds like you're having some sort of anxiety attack. Stay there. I'll come get you."

He's torn, then. Part of him wants to hang up on her, to never talk to her again; she's so far out of his league and too good for him and shouldn't even give him a second glance. The other part of him urges him to stay put, to try and direct her to where he is, to have her pick him up. She'll see him like this, then, and that's something he doesn't want because _no one's_ supposed to see him like this and _no one's_ supposed to know how far his fears and anxiety went. He doesn't want anyone to know, especially her, especially when he's already messed it up so many other times.

"Please don't," His voice is quiet and he begs, and it suddenly occurs to him how pathetic he both looks and sounds. Outside a club, sitting on the bloody pavement, leaning forward and tugging at his hair, refusing to even so much as look up as he _pleaded_ for Meg to just leave him alone, to stop pitying him and leave him be, because he's wholly and totally convinced that she doesn't _really_ care. She just feels sorry for him and nothing more. "Please, no. Don't. I can get home from here."

But he can't, and they both know that.

Somehow, someway, she finds him outside the club.

Somehow, someway, he finds himself in her car.

Her red hair is down, spilling over her shoulders and framing her face. She helps Gavin up and he doesn't say a word, though she offers a few comforting ones. It's warm in her car and he finally lets himself _breathe_ , finally relaxing. He's not sure why it's suddenly alright or why he's suddenly okay, but it is and that's all that matters right now. He's still shaking in the car and he can only hope she doesn't notice. They both know she does. Neither says anything about it.

The music's on low, just barely loud enough to give some sort of background noise, the hum of the engine providing the rest. He takes deep breaths, looking anywhere but at her when she's looking, and nowhere but her when she's not. He feels safe here and it feels like the first time in hours he's felt any sort of security and certainty of himself. It came along suddenly and passes slowly with each breath exhaled in the safety of Meg's car with her in the driver's seat next to him, waiting for him to calm down before even pulling out of the parking lot.

Finally, "Gavin? You alright?"

He glances at her, and quickly away again once their eyes connect for one painfully long moment. He nods, slowly, "Yeah. I will be. Hey," He forces himself to look at her, to meet her eyes. "Thanks. And uh—sorry."

"No."

It takes him by surprise, the word coming so calmly from her, "—What?"

Her lips twitch upwards in the beginnings of a smile, "No. I don't want you to be sorry. It's fine. I have anxiety, too. I know what those attacks are like."

He doesn't know what to say. A girl's never talked to him like this, never so calmly and never so on his level, and at this moment, he's not sure if it's patronizing or that she actually, genuinely cares. He can't imagine why she'd care or why he was anything to her, or why _anything_. It feels like his world has been completely turned upside-down, all by this girl, by the pretty girl with anxiety who has a nice voice and likes video games and slow-motion and the color red and who he likes _a lot_. He's confused and it's making his head spin and he has no idea why she cares, but she does, because that tone isn't patronizing or harsh or anything of the like. She cares and he likes her and he has no idea what to say, so he just says the first thing to come to his mind and it's dumb and after that, he has no idea where to go.

"I like your show."

She looks a little surprised, "You watch it? Table Talk?"

"Yeah," They're pulling out of the parking lot now. It gives Gavin a good excuse to not look at her. "Every night. Usually before I go to sleep."

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he catches a smile. He doesn't look at her to make sure.

"Where's your house?" She asks him after a few moments of riding in silence. He gives her the wrong address and she drops him off at it, wishing him goodbye and telling him to call her. He knows she knows it's the wrong address, but neither of them say anything. He watches her drive away, face burning hot with the lingering embarrassment that she'd seen him like that, that she'd had to deal with him like that, and then walks the few blocks back to the Ramsey house.

He wonders if he'll actually call her.

* * *

v.

He does. It's the fifth time and for once, he doesn't fuck it up.

He calls her a couple days after the incident. It's late at night—eleven her time, one his—but he's finally worked up the courage to do so after hours of pacing about in his shed studio and debating on calling her. He decides to do it and his shaking hands find her in his phone. He stops, goes back to square one, and then tries again, only to coward out again. The third try's the charm, though, and he finally hits the call button and listens for her to pick up.

It rings once. Then twice.

"Gavin?"

"Sorry—is it too late?"

There's no hesitation on the other line, "No, not at all! I was actually just eating dinner."

"At eleven?"

"I don't like schedules. Plus I woke up at like one in the afternoon. But mostly because I don't like schedules."

He laughs and for once, it feels easy. It's probably the first time in his life it actually feels that way. Every other time, he has knots in his throat or the works stick and won't come out. Now it feels—natural. Just natural. He's not flirting with her. He's not desperately trying to get her into bed. They're just talking. And it feels easy. He's always found girls intimidating and has always been unable to carry on an actual conversation with someone he potentially likes, but this time, it's different.

They talk for hours, until it's well into the night and Gavin's eyes are drooping from the sleepiness, but he's kept awake because he's afraid this will end, that everything will go back to being hard and nerve wracking tomorrow. He wants to stay in this moment, nearly falling asleep as he and Meg drowsily talk to each other, in the middle of an unspoken competition in which the loser would be which of the two of them falls asleep first.

She likes him.

For once, Gavin can say that with confidence. Which is a big thing, since Gavin Free being confident in _anything_ involving himself is bloody _unheard of._ But if there's one thing he knows, it's that Meg Turney likes him. It's not just a romantic attraction, either, though he's confident that's there, too. It's something else, something that's been developing through Gavin's four screw ups, something that's been building, unbeknownst to either one of them. Talking to her is easy. Conversation with her feels as natural as it would with Michael or Geoff. She's not just some bird that's out of his league—she's a person, Meg Turney, who's seen him at his absolute worst, hammered and then again in the middle of an anxiety attack, and she _gets it_. It makes him want to know everything about her, and he finds himself wanting to record everything she says, wanting to write it down so he doesn't forget it as he hangs on her every word, and Gavin thinks for the first time that this, this right here, might be the beginnings of some sort of love.

She likes him. She likes him and she's just as enthusiastic as he is, never once suggesting they get off the phone, always involved in whatever topic they're currently on. She likes him and he likes her and he's finally confident in something that he can actually believe it.

She's seen him at his absolute worst, all the secrets he had being revealed to her because of it, leaving no barrier, no wall between them. There's nothing left to hide or dance around, so she knows _exactly_ what she's getting into and she's still here, even after everything, still on the phone with him, and that honestly means a lot to him.

Dawn's breaking through the windows when Gavin realizes that it's probably time to get some sleep. It's then that he decides to do what he's been wanting to do, and apologizes to her, "I'm sorry I made such a horrible impression on you. I'll make it up to you."

"What do you mean?" She sounds a little more alert than before, clearly more awake now that Gavin's speaking seriously.

"The first time you met me and stuff. At the panel and the after party and then when you picked me up a couple days ago."

She hums, "You didn't make a bad impression. Well—I take that back—seeing you pretty much black-out drunk was a bit of a turn-off, but the rest of that stuff wasn't bad. The panel thing was actually kinda cute. And last week—don't beat yourself up over that. I knew what it was like to be where you were. There's nothing wrong with it. It's fine, Gav. You're fine."

Somehow, it does make him feel better. A lot better, actually. Maybe those four other times _weren't_ fuck ups. Maybe they really were fine. They'd gotten him here, so how bad of a mess up could they really have been? Overthinking and his anxiety over rejection was all it had been, really. It was fine. Meg was talking to him now, staying up all night to talk to him on the phone, and _she liked him._

"Yeah, well. You're pretty fine, too," He smiles, and without any hesitation or overthinking or nervousness over it, he asks the question. "Do you want to go out with me when you come back to Austin? We could, you know. Date and stuff. If you want to."

She laughs on the other end, and Gavin decides that it's definitely the best sound he's ever heard, "I'd _really_ like to, Gav."


End file.
